


At Length

by charleybradburies



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Canon, Apologies, Boxers, Breathplay, Canon Character of Color, Canon Related, Clothing, Clothing Kink, Community: 100_women, Community: 1_million_words, Community: fan_flashworks, Couch Sex, Cunnilingus, Episode Related, Episode: s02e19 The Dirty Half Dozen, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fanboy Phil Coulson, Making Love, Making Out, Making Up, Marking, Mild Kink, Originally Posted on LiveJournal, POV Male Character, POV Phil Coulson, Post-Episode: s02e19 The Dirty Half Dozen, Roughness, Semi-Public Sex, Sexual Content, Spies & Secret Agents, Suits, Sweet/Hot, Switching, Teasing, Top Melinda May, Topping from the Bottom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-22
Updated: 2015-05-22
Packaged: 2018-03-31 17:44:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3987052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charleybradburies/pseuds/charleybradburies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phil has a lot of making up to do.</p><p>Written for Fan Flashworks Challenge #31: Apology, and for 100-women prompt #18: Truth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	At Length

Phil tries to open the door as quietly as possible, and then isn’t entirely sure why; she’d know he was there even if he somehow managed to be entirely invisible and entirely silent - May was just _like_ that. 

Besides, he certainly intends to make his presence known. Well known. Viscerally known. But now he was at the bridge of the words that needed to be exchanged before that. 

“ _Some_ of us are working,” she says even before he’s actually started to approach the table where she’s looking through files he can’t identify from the doorway.

“And _some_ of us are aware that it’s the middle of the night, and that we are _supposed_ to be in bed.”

“If you’re so convinced of that, then why _aren’t_ you?”

“You’re not the only one who’s _working,_ Melinda.”

His voice is softer then, and he sees her pause. 

“Don’t smirk,” she orders.

“It’s called a smile,” he contests, walking slowly to the table and going up to her. Again, she pauses slightly and continues reading. 

_“Some_ of us make time for them more than once a year,” he says lightly as he leans into the table a bit, his elbow serving as the leverage he needs to take some of his weight off his feet. 

And even though it’s just for a moment, May laughs at his remark.

“Oh, change of plans, apparently!”

“Don’t get used to it.”

He actually gives hiding the extent of his pleasure a good faith effort, knowing that his pride at eliciting such reactions has historically prevented them from continuing to occur.

“So the schedule’s changed, then, when’s the next one? I want to make sure I get a front row seat.”

She shakes her head, finally taking her eyes off the report she’s holding. She doesn’t look at him but at the floor past the table, but hey, he had to start somewhere. She steels herself again, but a touch of her annoyed amusement remains in her voice.

“I’m _sure_ you’ll have one, Phillip.”

“Just making sure,” he shrugs nonchalantly, and she cocks her head towards him, her lips pursed, indicating that there’s still the smallest of grins behind her attempt at reprimand.

As far as Phil was concerned, he was entirely game for May’s dressing-downs. 

And she knew what he meant.

Which is why her look barely changes when he breaks their surprisingly-not-that-awkward staring contest with a momentary glance down the front view he currently has of her and his right arm wrapped around the lower hem of her leather jacket. She props her hands on her hips, her left consequently acknowledging but not moving his arm even when his hand comes to press into the small of her back. His movement’s more aggressive than most, and since she’s expecting it, it pulls her closer. 

The anger in her set jaw hasn’t left, but May’s smirk starts to emerge again as the space between them diminishes. 

“You have _so_ much making up to do,” she declares, her voice almost a whisper, when his chest is actually within an inch or two of hers.

“I can handle that.”

“As in definitely-not-going-to-be-resolved-tonight-even-if-I-come-so-hard-I-can’t-move-for-twenty-minutes amount of making up, Phil.”

“As in if I wake up chained to a pole somewhere I should survey my surroundings very carefully before making my game plan.”

“Something like that,” she moans teasingly, the hot, taunting breath colliding with his.

“Like I said, I can handle that.”

She raises her eyebrows and her head, giving him more skepticism than he knows he should believe she bears.

“Come on, Melinda. You know how much ass kissing I’m game for.”

“I don’t think I do, actually.”

Her tone is serious, nearly without emotion, but she pauses, and he takes the chance on the softest of kisses.

“I think you should show me.”

It’s a demand, given with the same power as when she’d demanded a private word with him earlier; regardless of the fact that this is his apology and he should be the one doing any moderately heavy lifting, it’s May’s agile hands that make quick work of his belt and pants, without so much as changing the angle at which her eyes are meeting him. She’d still probably deny that they grow hungrier, but that certainly isn’t something she’s able to hide from him at this point, especially as he kisses her gently again and she doesn’t waste a second on the wholly, sweetly romantic kiss she doesn’t want and deepens the kiss to take the roughness she’s craving from him. 

And she _is_ craving, he knows; there’s the slightest buckling of her knees when he shakes his legs to drop his pants all the way to floor and kick them off - the Oxfords he’d changed into upon his return allow him an easier time of that - and turns them both so as to have her up against the side of the table, and she readily lets him wrap an arm all the way around her ass to pick her up and deposit her on the table’s edge. He uses the other hand to steady the movement, pressing it against her hip and then sneaking it underneath her shirt. 

She leans a few degrees back, getting the bit of leverage she needs to shrug her jacket off. A laugh of amusement graces her face as she’s giving him his once-over - the Cap boxers never helped her take him seriously. He no longer minds.

“Oh, you _know_ you like them,” he jests.

“I know _you_ like them. I personally hold little fondness for any article of clothing you own.”

“There are a couple of suits you seem to like. I get the feeling you just don’t like me _wearing_ them.”

His half-heartedly teasing remark is cut off promptly with a harsh kiss; May’s legs tighten against his thighs until he’s pressed to the table and to her. At first, she moves in sync with him as he rolls her shirt up her stomach, tracing her sides with his fingertips, and pulls the shirt over her head, but when he’s tossed the shirt aside she lowers her arms to wrap around his shoulders. 

“Not like any sparkly dress that seeing me in amused you _far_ too much hasn’t taken similar effect as these charcoal suit jackets,” May moans into his mouth, a laugh sending the comment off with the latent gentleness he loves. 

“Ah, well, guilty as charged.”

She lets go of his neck, sliding her arms slowly and heavily back over his shoulders until the weight of them has left him. Phil aches a little at the loss of the touch - well, not _just_ that, but it’s a contributing factor - but finds it’s only a few moments before her fingers continue to traverse down his chest and start undoing the buttons of his dress shirt. She pushes it and the jacket off of his shoulders, and they tickle his legs on their way down to the floor. He doesn’t even get the time to shiver, though; May’s legs tighten again, and it’s his cue to move. 

He scoops her off the table, unhooking her bra before laying her down onto the couch behind them and then following in turn. She keeps her ankles below his ass, so whatever way he lays or direction he moves, his straining erection is rubbing against her; he notices her hands creeping down to her thighs and grabs her wrists tightly, determined to maintain the premise of this particular time being all about her. 

She growls at her arms being pressed down into the seat cushion, but her growl soon swells into a whine as his mouth climbs up her skin, suckling everywhere his lips pause - at her neck, a little longer, with a hand pushed gently at her throat. The hand that his had left comes up to tighten his grip and May’s breathing slows a bit; she feels the small bruise being left at her clavicle and moves her hand so that it’s properly holding his.

“Jackass,” she grumbles, and he chuckles as his wet lips leave her skin and pull hers into a kiss. 

“I’m gonna make you buy me nicer shirts if you keep making me wear ones with high necklines, you know.”

Phil laughs again, knowing that she’ll understand his assent as he spreads his fingers across her neck and moves back down her body. The hand follows the rest of him, trailing down her front and eliciting a few shakier breaths as he grows increasingly close to her cunt. A single kiss to her swollen clit makes her yelp, and she smacks him on the head. He doesn’t bother to respond except to slip his fingers underneath the waistband of her panties and scoot himself back so he can slide them down and off of her legs. 

He leans down into her, laying himself prostrate on the couch and wrapping his arms tightly around May’s thighs as he - finally - starts going down on her. She’s tensed in anticipation and arousal, and can feel his slight smirking - he knows, partly because she’s May and she knows things, but also because she smacks him again before giving up on reprimand and lets herself properly enjoy his apology.


End file.
